


can't get tired if there's no soul to bear

by VolxdoSioda



Series: MerMay 2019 (Complete) [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, MerMay Day 4, and Noctis just tries to survive, in which Cor tries to wrap his head around Noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 20:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Within the first few moments of their meeting, Noctis determines Cor does not like him.This is incorrect. Cor does not know what to do with him.





	can't get tired if there's no soul to bear

Noctis had assumed the hardest part of discovering the truth behind who he was had been the... well, the discovery. The day he'd learned he was the son of the Lucian Sea King, stolen away from his kingdom as a baby and bound to a human form for his entire life, the day he'd let Prompto nervously walk him down to the water's edge where a man that looked like  _ him  _ had been waiting, and he'd met his dad for the first time in his whole life.

_ That  _ had felt like the hard part. The realization that the orphanage he'd grown up in, the lies he'd been told (his dad, a useless abusive alcoholic, his mother, some whore in a back alley) had all been coverups for the truth, the people around him who had shunned him and shut him down, made him so nervous that he'd hidden himself away behind layers upon layers of clothing, and having to haltingly explain to this strange, patient,  _ loving   _ Mer that he couldn't trigger his transformation. He'd gone in expecting to be shunned, sneered at for his failures, and instead Regis had scooped him up in a hug that had made him cry and told him, "It will be alright."

But no. Compared to this? That had been a cakewalk.

"Noctis, I would like you to meet Cor Leonis; Cor is head of our Crownsguard, guardian of the hatcheries and one of my oldest friends. Cor, this is Noctis. My son."

Cor, Noctis can see immediately, does not like him. Not one bit. And he knows why - he imagines his Dad has told everyone that his lost son has finally been found, and Prompto would no doubt provide evidence of this. So everyone would probably come here expecting to see a princely character, someone handsome and smart and strong and charismatic. Not... Noctis, who hides in too-big clothes and ducks his head and hates making eye contact. 

Cor Leonis is big. He's tall and he's big and he's  _ built like a tank,  _ all scarred, tanned muscles and sharp edges that dip down  into where human-looking flesh meets pure mer muscle, and his body curves into elegant reds and whites of a massive lionfish. It's fitting, for someone named  _ Leonis,  _ a lion in all the ways that count.

His eyes, a piercing twilight blue, rake Noctis over, and do not show even the slightest bit of warmth. His arms remain crossed over his chest, expression impassive, except for the smallest, barely noticeable downtick of the left corner of his mouth.

_ Disappointment,  _ Noctis thinks, and fiddles with his extra-long sleeves so he won't throw his hood over his head and duck low instead.

"Y-yeah. Um. Nice to meet you."

If anything, Noctis' lackluster greeting and avoidance of all eye contact seems to disgust the mer warrior more. The downtick grows, and his eyes narrow. He says something to Regis in a bark of language Noctis feels he should probably know, but doesn't. Regis says something back in a tone that's exasperated, and Cor's mouth stretches thin, pinched, inches away from a sneer.

Noctis gives in to temptation. He throws his hood over his head, tucks himself deep in his jacket, and hunches down. He hears the inhaled breathe from Regis at the movement, a subtle sign that Prompto probably told him all about Noctis' various signs of discomfort and boundary withdrawal. 

Eventually, his father clears his throat. Noctis puts eyes on  _ him  _ instead of Cor. "Truth be told, until we're able to find another way to get you back into the ocean, I would rather not leave you by yourself," Regis says gently. "But I also know there is no safe way for you to remain by the sea for long periods. Therefore, Cor will accompany you until further notice, to keep you safe, and train you in the process."

Ice shucks itself into Noctis' stomach, feeling like a falling meteor. He swallows hard, and stammers out, "There's really no need, Da. I'm... I'm okay, on my own. I'm safe. Nobody knows or cares who I am, and I mean. I'd be fine living by the sea? There's no need to waste manpower on me. Really."

_ And not someone that clearly doesn't like me.  _

But Regis shakes his head, and Noctis knows this deal is completely out of his hands, and as good as done. "I lost you once," he says, "I won't risk it again. Cor will be discreet, and will see to his own needs when not seeing to yours. I'm sure you'll become fast friends."

His smile is hopeful, warm, and Noctis faintly returns it, even as he ducks his head and moves back towards the shore. Behind him, there's the sound of crunching bone, and then Cor is following him out on human limbs, completely naked, eyes still boring holes into the back of Noctis' head. When  Noctis brings out the clothes Prompto gave him to give to Cor, the man's nose wrinkles, even as he tugs the clothes on.

Yeah, Noctis can definitely say Cor doesn't like him.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

It doesn't get better with time.

Cor keeps to himself for the most part. While Noctis is at school, he does... whatever he does. Noctis doesn't know. He doesn't ask. And when it's time for school to end, Cor is waiting for him at the gates, with a motorcycle that Noctis doesn't know where he got, and isn't about to ask. He knows how to drive, and Noctis almost feels envious as a helmet gets plopped on his head, his arms tugged into the appropriate spot around Cor's waist, and they're off like a shot. 

The house has been reorganized to Cor's liking. Noctis woke the first morning to find his few pieces of furniture moved around, everything swept, vacuumed and mopped, and there hasn't been a shred of dirt or debris on anything since. Noctis is almost afraid to sit down, for fear he'll dirty something.

Cor also took over cooking after the first night. Noctis knows his cooking isn't very fancy - eggs and toast with a side of bacon rarely is, but he'd thought it was okay at the very least. The meals Cor cook are far fancier, and most of them are fish-related. There are still side-bowls of fruit and other things, and Cor encourages second helpings, even as he himself barely eats anything. Noctis' stomach always feels bloated and heavy after, and the train ride to school is almost enough to make him sick. 

Cor doesn't speak to him, and he doesn't speak to Cor, and when night falls Noctis closes his door and curls up on the bed and sleeps beneath several thick blankets. Cor sleeps on the couch, as far as Noctis knows. 

He feels like a stranger in his own home, and he doesn't know how to make it stop. Even hiding behind extra layers doesn't seem to be helping, and if anything, it only seems to make Cor dislike him even more. He swears he's missing jackets - he can't seem to find several of his hoodies, and the thickest jacket with the big hood he likes to wear on especially bad days is just  _ gone.  _ He doesn't want to accuse Cor of taking them away just because he doesn't like the way Noctis cowers, because Cor is his dad's man and his dad trusts Cor, which means Noctis should to. 

But Noctis doesn't know him, doesn't trust him, doesn't feel safe around him. Cor doesn't like him, and Noctis knows it, and it makes him want to curl up into a ball and  _ die.  _

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

"How's it going so far?" Regis asks him, two weeks later.

They're sitting on the beach, Regis still in his Mer form, all beautiful starry black fins and elegant lines fit for a King. It makes Noctis feel awkward sitting next to him; crane-knees and flailing arms and too-small body, unlike anything a Prince is supposed to have. 

"It's um. In progress?" He offers, and gets a smile from his father.

It's one way of putting it. He doesn't talk to Cor and Cor doesn't talk to him and they just exist in the same space day in and day out, but there's been some good with the bad. Cor still doesn't like him, but the other day he snarled at something he was doing in the kitchen, and it scared Noctis so bad he bolted upstairs, and when he came back down Cor was slower to move, and didn't raise his voice again. 

Noctis isn't particularly  _ proud  _ he got so spooked by a single curse he bolted, but Six help him he's been on hooks for weeks now. He's tired. He doesn't like feeling so out-of-control, and today his favorite sweater went missing, so he's wearing his last-favorite now, and he's washed all his clothes twice but he still can't find them.

"And Cor?"

Noctis shrugs. "We... don't really talk."

"Really? I thought Cor would at least--"

"He's... busy, probably. And I'm gone a lot, so."  _ He doesn't like me, and he doesn't owe me kindness. It's fine. He hasn't raised a hand against me, so it's fine.  _

Even if their relationship - if it can even be called that at this stage - is chilly at best and subzero at worst, Cor Leonis is still a better human than a majority of people have been so far. So Noctis will give him a pass. 

"Well, I hope you two have time to sit down and talk. Honestly, there's so much about Insomnia he could teach you --"

Noctis smiles and nods, but as soon as he's waved goodbye to his dad and is headed back towards the road, he drops it and ducks his head into his hood again. He stops at the edge of the road, because Cor is standing there, waiting for him. As ever, his eyes cut holes through Noctis, and Noctis ducks his head and silently gets on the bike. 

Really, it could be worse.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

It gets worse.

 

All of his jackets and sweaters are gone. Not the lighter ones - the ones meant for breaking up the wind, or the ones he can (should) comfortably wear at home, the old, ratty ones. But his nice, thick ones with hoods that he hides behind are all gone. And considering yesterday there were still four clean ones on his hangers, it points to Cor. 

 

Cor is taking away his hiding spots. It makes him wonder if the Mer is really so malicious, or maybe this is his attempt to toughen Noctis up? To… get him outside his shell, into the princely veneer he expects to see?

 

He could ask, but he doesn’t think he’ll get an answer. Nobody else in his life has ever given him an answer for their cruelty beyond  _ because I can, and because you can’t stop me,  _ and Noctis doesn’t expect this to be any different. 

 

Regardless, without those sweaters and jackets…

 

He shivers, hugging himself close as he looks miserably at his empty closet. Fuck, he  _ hates  _ going out naked like this. Hates the vulnerability that skitters along his spine, the sensation of eyes like knives against his back. Especially so now, because his entire life has undergone a transformation, except unlike a magical girl, he has no protection of any sort before or after. It’s just him. Just Noctis. 

 

He stands in front of the closet for a long time, until he can’t anymore, until he can hear Cor moving downstairs, getting ready to take him to school - the trains are doing maintenance today - until at last there’s a light but firm knock on his wall, and Noctis knows he can’t wait anymore. Protective layer or no, he has to go.

 

He goes downstairs arms still wrapped tight around each other, and already he hates it. He hopes Prompto’s at school today, because maybe the other mer can paint some reason behind Cor, can make him flesh and blood and not merely this gruff soldier come in to upend Noctis’ entire life. 

 

Cor watches him gingerly mount onto the bike, and it takes him a second to reason himself into unwrapping his arms from himself, and hold onto Cor instead. He’s tempted to let go, as Cor starts the engine and takes off. To just let the speed throw him back against whoever is behind, and that would be that. And maybe Cor senses that, because during the first red light they come to he reaches down and tugs Noctis’ hands more firmly into place. Noctis keeps his eyes shut and does his best to reason  _ everything will be alright, you’ll be okay, one day won’t be so bad.  _

 

Except he knows that one day will become two, and then a week, and then a month. Without his sweaters and hoods, how long can he last before he breaks? Before something sends him skittering away, and he has no place to hide?

 

_ Please Prompto,  _ he prays.  _ Be at school. Help me, because I don’t know how to do this alone. _

 

And for once, the universe answers his prayers.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

“Your sweatshirts?”

 

Noctis nods. They’re up on the roof during first break - a juicebox Prompto brought him along with a snack of dried seaweed crackers and dipping sauce completely untouched. Prompto has already finished his, but Noctis has curled up, and elected to hide his face in his knees instead.

 

Prompto hums. “I didn’t tell the King about your habits or anything, but honestly? I don’t think it would take much to understand. Humans can be really shy at times. Kind of like us.” He makes a thinking noise. “I don’t think Cor’s doing it out of malicion. More… a desire to see you improve. He used to bully the guppies in training the same way.”

 

“He could always go back to my dad if he hates me so much,” Noctis mumbles softly.

 

“I don’t think he hates you either,” Prompto says, flicking a bit of lint off his jacket. “I think it’s more… he doesn’t quite know what to make of you. He’s trying to find your limits, your hard boundaries, but you’re not giving him any, so he’s just.” He makes a gesture, and yeah, Noctis can see it. 

 

“He’s scary.”

 

“Yeah, he can be. You should try talking to him though. At least… tell him you’d like your sweaters back. He’s trying to wean your reliance off them, but--”

 

“I’m getting better,” Noctis argues. “I-- there  _ are  _ days where I’ve gone without. I just don’t like to.”

 

“Not like this.”

 

“No.”

 

“Then talk to him,” Prompto urges. “Talk to him, let him know your limits. If you don’t he’s just going to keep trying to push until he finds them. Trust me - been there, done that, got the platinum trophy for it.”

 

The bell ding-dongs, and grudgingly Noctis gets to his feet. Prompto sways close, warm as a beam of sunshine on a spring day, and nudges food and drink towards him. “C’mon. Take a couple bites before you go in. You’re gonna need the energy.”

 

The food  _ does  _ make him feel a little better. And Prompto lets him leech off his warmth, his energy on their way back to the classroom, where he finally rubs his cheek against Noctis’ before letting go and stepping back to his own space. Not quite as nice as his sweaters, but warm all the same. Appreciated.

 

Maybe he can do this after all. Maybe.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

Cor Leonis is a man of dedication. A man of skill, a man of unshaken resolve and intense loyalty. He’s known Regis since he was a guppy, and honed every skill he has to keep his King safe, and one day, his Prince. And then came that terrible time when the Prince was stolen from them, when Cor spent every waking hour tightening security and keeping Regis afloat, only for Prompto to stumble across their wayward royal years later.

 

And yet, now that the day has arrived, now that Cor has met his to-be King again, he has not a clue what to do with him.

 

It isn’t that Noctis is difficult. Leviathan’s Maw, things might be easier if he  _ were,  _ because then at least there would be  _ something.  _ Instead, Cor’s dealing with some kind of hollowed-out marionette that twitches and shudders its way through life, broken and bent but has no idea what it’s supposed to be doing, so it just keeps doing what it’s been doing. 

 

Noctis’ space reflects his lack of desire, resolve,  _ anything,  _ even more. Everything feels cold - there’s no warmth of personal attachments, no flush sense of belonging, of home to the space he occupies. It’s just a room with other rooms attached, a door he opens to come inside and leave, and a world that doesn’t care. 

 

Noctis Lucis Caelum has been destroyed, and what remains of him shivers away beneath layers upon layers of clothing, bows his head like the most enfeebled of elders when he should be standing upright, standing strong, proving that the world hasn’t killed him yet. 

 

Cor had hoped that if he chose to take an invasive approach to the Prince’s life - if he chose to make the space  _ his _ and take away those ridiculously over bulky sweaters and jackets, Noctis would finally show a spark of life. 

 

But there’s nothing. Noctis almost looks like he wants to say something, when he comes out of class the day Cor pulls every last article of oversized clothing out of his closet and hides it in his own, but catches one look at Cor’s face and… gone. 

 

It makes Cor wonder what the young man thinks of  _ him,  _ to shut down so quickly when Cor has done  _ nothing.  _ They haven’t spoken a word to each other despite living together for nearly four weeks, despite having at least a thirty minute commute in the afternoon where Noctis wraps his arms around Cor’s waist and rides home. There’s nothing but still silence between them. No life. No sense of purpose. 

 

He gets a message from Prompto while he waits for Noctis at the gates. Prompto, who guards Noctis like a mother defending her egg, who flares up and fights when Noctis should be the one to do so. The thought alone nearly has him ignoring the message.

 

And yet.

 

_ Listen, I know you’re trying to do things your way, and I’m not saying your way is bad. But Noct’s got history, and he’s dealing with it. Cut him some slack. And give him back his sweaters! >:| _

 

**_Why._ **

 

_ You know why! I get it, okay? I do. But pushing him isn’t going to make him into what you want. What any of us want. He’s fragile, Cor. One wrong touch is all it takes.  _

 

The word  _ fragile  _ sticks in Cor’s mind like a sharpened bit of coral. He doesn’t know why, but. In this moment, all he can see in his mind’s eye is himself, a young man again, and the time he found a cluster of Thresher eggs, left unattended. The mother had died, her carcass long since rotted away. Most of the eggs had died as well, except for one.

 

Badly sick, half-cracked and bleeding out into the water, yet the fry within still fought for life. Still floundered and tried to break free. Fought to exist.

 

He thinks on that fry and he reads the word _ fragile, _ and in his mind’s eye, he pictures Noctis, during their first meeting. The way he’d glanced at Cor, taken him in quickly, and then ducked down low, hidden away beneath his hoods and long sleeves.

 

Half-cracked, bleeding out into the waters around him, but still pitifully pulling himself along. Still fighting the only way he knows how. Not even a fully-formed guppy yet, but a mere half-fry, developing twice as slow due to the damage caused.

 

**_I’ll think about it,_ ** Cor replies, and then closes his messages. Noctis fights himself, loses, and says nothing, even as he grudgingly unfolds himself from the self-soothing hug he’s wrapped himself in, and puts arms around Cor.

 

Delicate. Small. Fragile. Half-fry.

 

Cor kicks on the engine. 

 

Later that night, he waits until Noctis falls into a fitful sleep, and then takes three of the hooded sweatshirts, and puts them back in his closet. And then he takes one of his own - a large, stretched-out thing in red and white stripes Clarus had jokingly gotten him one year for a birthday present - and adds it in. There’s no hood to it, but the sleeves are long and the fabric is thick and warm, padded soft from years of wear.

 

_ Let me protect you.  _

 

He wasn’t wrong about Prompto being a mother-hen about his fry. But Cor’s never been one to give up on the underdogs. Even if they are only half-developed little things.

 

Prompto’s carried this by himself long enough. Cor is here now, and he will keep the Prince safe until he can find his fins again. No matter how long that might take.

 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

His sweaters are back.

 

He stares at them when he opens the closet the next morning, and then slowly, in disbelief, reaches out. They’re soft, just like he remembers. They still smell like him. Still warm.

 

_ He gave them back. _

 

There’s a new one here too. One he’s never seen - it’s not his. It’s nearly three sizes too big on him, red and white, colors Noctis would never wear, but finds himself drawn to now. He slides it on, and  _ oh,  _ it’s better somehow than his. Softer on the inside, worn and heavy, the hem stopping at his hips, making it look more like a dress than a sweater, but still so comfortable. 

 

It smells strange, but it’s  _ warm.  _ Noctis rubs a cheek against the sleeve, and finds some of his anxiety withering in the face of the softness. 

 

But that still leaves the question of  _ why.  _ Why Cor Leonis, who does not like him, who has not spoken a single word to him, who barged in and took over and is still waiting for Noctis to stop him with a word, why such a man willingly gave him back his sweaters when Noctis still has said  _ nothing. _

 

He fiddles with the edge of a sleeve, rubbing soft cotton between thumb and forefinger, and then bolts down the stairs before his nerves can desert him. 

 

Cor is in the kitchen, cutting up celery. He pauses and glances up when Noctis skids into the room, sliding across linoleum in his socks and pinwheeling to keep his balance. Noctis looks at this man, and feels his anxiety threaten to drown him. 

 

“Why?” he demands, and in the quiet room his young voice seems to echo. When Cor doesn’t immediately answer, it only makes his nerves quiver more, but Noctis grips the hem of the new sweater that is not his and pushes on. “Why’d you...you…” he gestures to himself, and then frantically, upstairs. 

 

Cor sighs through his nose, and goes right back to chopping. For a long moment, Noctis thinks he isn’t going to answer. That he’s darted down here with his nerves for no reason, that Cor dislikes him so much--

 

“Because,” the man speaks, and  _ oh,  _ his voice is oddly soft, not loud like he was expecting, not booming or commanding. “You’re just trying to survive. There’s no merit to bullying someone to improve before they’re even out of their egg.” He slants a look at Noctis. “Prompto told me. Next time I expect  _ you  _ to tell me. I know you’re not comfortable with me.”

 

“You don’t like me,” Noctis says quietly, and Cor blinks at him. “I know that. I’ve known that since the day I met you. You should go back to Dad if you’re so unhappy.”

 

“I don’t like you because I don’t  _ know  _ you, Prince,” Cor returns.  “You’re a strange creature to me. You hide away behind sweaters and jackets, you cringe like you’re expecting to be beaten at any given point. And you don’t use your words when strangers come into your life.” He deposits the celery in a bowl, and then takes the bowl over and dumps it in a boiling pot on the stove. Washes the knife and cutting board clean - actually clean, not the half-job Noctis does when he’s not feeling well. “It’s hard to get to know someone when they’re more determined to disappear than speak. I don’t expect a chatterbox, but you should be able to tell me when you’re uncomfortable with me doing something.”

 

“People usually prefer it when I try to disappear,” Noctis mumbles. He doesn’t expect Cor to actually hear it, but the man  _ does,  _ and he rounds with a scowl on his face. 

 

“Then those people are idiots, and you should ignore them.”

 

“You say it like it’s easy.”

 

“For me, it is. For you, probably not.”

 

Quiet again. Noctis fiddles with the hem, and Cor leans against the counter, occasionally stirring something that’s beginning to smell like stew. 

 

“Do you like it?”

 

Noctis looks up. Cor flicks his fingers towards him, and Noctis looks down.

 

“...it’s warm.”

 

“...glad to hear it.”

 

_ Well now what, genius?  _ The snide voice in the back of his head demands as the silence drags on.  _ You went and got your answer. Now what? _

 

Cor pulls the ladle out of the mix and sniffs it. “Almost there. Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes or so, if you want to wash up.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Breakfast.”

 

Noctis blinks at him. “Oh… I don’t… really eat?”

 

Cor stares at him, and Noctis reaches back to flip the hood up, only to discover  _ there is no hood on this sweater.  _ The little wheeze he makes in the back of his throat does nothing to make Cor’s stare relent.

 

“Why not.”

 

_ Aha, that’s not a question.  _

 

“I...don’t eat.”

 

“Yes, we’ve discovered that. Why not.”

 

“I just. Don’t?”

 

“Don’t you get hungry?”

 

“Well yeah, but it’s easy to ignore.”

 

Cor blinks slowly, and then says in a tone that is probably more level than it should be. “I take it back. You aren’t even a half-fry. You’re just an egg.”

 

“U-uhm?”

 

“You brought this on yourself, you realize.”

 

“Uhm?”

 

Cor looks at him. “How much water do you drink?”

 

“I-I don’t?”

 

Cor closes his eyes. “Egg,” he says softly. “Well. At least my job is easy now. I know how to handle this.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes. When do you sleep?”

 

“When...I get tired?”

 

“Which is when?”

 

“Um, tw-two am, usually? Sometimes later--”

 

“Despite having school?”

 

“I just… don’t go. Prompto brings me what I miss.”

 

“And the school doesn’t take issue with that?”

 

“I don’t know, they never call.”

 

“Have you checked the messages?”

 

“The what?”

 

Cor breathes out. His shoulders are shaking just slightly, as he spoons what is most certainly a thick stew into a bowl. “Egg,” he says, and it sounds  _ final.  _ “Well, fortunately for you, I’ve handled Hatchery duty since I was young. I’ll take proper care of you, no worries.”

 

Noctis somehow feels more confused than before, but he takes the bowl of stew Cor hands him, as well as the glass of water that gets shoved towards him, and lets himself be shooed to the table. 

 

The stew is good, and Cor gently pets his head when he’s done, which is… weird. But also nice, and it makes him feel like he did a good thing, even if all he did was eat stew. 

 

He goes to school wondering what he just unleashed though. Because clearly he’s said something, and Cor… he doesn’t know what Cor’s doing, only that when he goes he’s hissing into the phone at someone who keeps laughing. It’s starting to sound hysterical. 

 

_ Maybe Prompto will know,  _ he thinks. Except when he brings it up during break, Prompto bursts into laughter, and shakes his head when Noctis tries to ask what’s funny. 

 

“It’s good,” he finally manages to get out just as the bell rings. “Trust me, I’m saying this from someone who grew up in the Hatchery he ran when I was a fry. He’s a good guy. He’ll treat you well.”

 

“What?”

 

Prompto doesn’t answer past that though, and Noctis is left with the sinking suspicion he’s been teased.

 

Jerks.

 


End file.
